


Under My Skin (you create fireworks)

by unfortunate17



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:54:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunate17/pseuds/unfortunate17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: in which the world disapproves, liam is often swept by judgment, and zayn is brave (alternatively, in which two lost souls find love to be one another)<br/>.....................................<br/>"and zayn pushes forward, determined to make him understand. “listen, yeah, you’re not nobody,” he says firmly, “you’re not.” (and wow that somehow sounded a lot better in his head).</p><p>but liam’s eyes are disappearing and his smile is widening, “you make me somebody, zayn.”</p><p>(and zayn feels something tighten deep inside of him)..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under My Skin (you create fireworks)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: racism, drug use, & sexual references (PG16)
> 
> inspired by emily dickinson’s poem “i’m nobody”

**…………………………………………………….**

_I’m Nobody! Who are you?_

_Are you – Nobody – too?_

_Then there’s a pair of us!_

_\- “I’m Nobody” by Emily Dickinson_

**…………………………………………………….**

( _they end like this._ ) _:_

“i just don’t get it,” zayn whispers, voice cracking into the headset, “what did i do wrong?”

liam sighs, frustrated on the other end (zayn can almost see how he’s running his fingers through his hair and how he’s probably biting his lips and fiddling with the edge of his shirt and-), “you didn’t  _do_  anything, zayn, it’s just -” he stops.

there’s a pause.

“please,” zayn says pathetically, “please just tell me -  _please_  - i don’t -” (don’t want you to leave, don’t want to be alone anymore, don’t want to be nobody), “fucking  _understand_.”

there’s a long pause at the other end (liam’s wrecked, zayn realizes with a start, but the sweat on his palms and the tears on his cheeks show that he’s not much better off really).

then, “it’s-,” liam pauses, before choking out, “the way people look at us zayn.” he hurriedly continues, “i mean - people -  _have you heard what they say?_ ” (i have, zayn wants to say, but then doesn’t because  _jesus_ no,  _allah-hu-akbar_ no,  _liam_ no)

so instead, zayn goes very silent, his world narrowing (blocking his mum’s happy chatter from the kitchen and his father’s booming laughter - probably with love shining sickeningly in his eyes as he fucking  _gazes_  at her, zayn thinks bitterly) to only liam and the phone and his heavy breathing and the fucking  _ripping, crippling, mangling hurt._

liam is still stammering and zayn can’t understand half of what he’s saying until, “and  _jesus_ , even my family, just - they really don’t, well,  _approve_ , zayn.”

there’s another pause.

and zayn’s entire being is crashing into rubble around him - he’s burning into himself until nothing is left but blood and veins and bones. his hand trembles violently so he sets the phone down, even amidst liam’s  _zayn? zayn? zayn, can you hear me?_ because he doesn’t want to hear anymore, damnit. no more. no fucking more. (zayn doesn’t think he can take any  _more_ ).

he smiles bravely when his mother looks curiously at his tear streaked cheeks and asks him  _everything alright, jaan,_ when he walks past her to cross to the stairs,but christ, he’s broken, broken,  _broken_ , as he climbs up numbly because he knew this day would come (it’s just that he never expected it to come with liam really - and that fucking  _stings_ ).

and when zayn has his bedroom door securely closed with the locks turned, he presses a clammy hand to the mirror and just  _stares_ at his reflection, picking out the too dark hair, the too dark skin, the too dark eyes (from which tears continue to leak - because liam will always, always be that one thing that can break him in half) and nearly spits in disgust.

he wants to claw his skin off (peel it delicately from the tissue and tendons and bleach it a nice, fair peach), rip his eyes out (pluck them like eggs and maybe dye them a pretty, pretty blue or green), and shave his hair back (razor it down to the roots and maybe when it grows back, by some miracle, it would be a rich blond or brown).

he clenches his fists and thinks -  _paki_.

_paki._

(when zayn looks at his father during dinner that night - as his father smiles and asks him about school and liam and tells zayn that he loves him - he’ll mentally curse the man for being his biological father. and when he looks at his mother, with her peach skin, blue eyes, and brown hair, he thinks  _amma, why couldn’t you pick a white man? -_ because then maybe - just maybe - zayn might have been white too and liam might have still wanted him).

that night, zayn crawls into his bed,  _aching and exhausted_ , with a certain hollowness in his chest, creaky muscles, and shattered bones.

(he doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself more).

**…………………………………………………….**

_(they begin like this.):_

zayn’s always known he was just a little bit different - but other than a few snide remarks here and there, it’s never really affected his life all that much. he has casual acquaintances that are there when he wants to get high or wants a good fuck but  _friends_  (to whom he could confess that sometimes he feels like he’s a bug under a microscope) - no zayn doesn’t have very many, or  _any_ for that matter, friends. (and he tries to attribute this more to his personality than anything else because he just doesn’t  _care_  damnit. about anything).

his parents say he’s going places - his teachers say his writing is profound and moving and touching (half the time zayn wants to ask whether or not they’re actually  _reading_  what he wrote or giving him pity marks) - his acquaintances tell him that he always knows where to get the best weed - but the thing is, zayn just doesn’t  _care_. he doesn’t care that he’s going places - he cuts class anyway, he doesn’t care that his writing is profound or moving or touching (or all that shit put together) - he doesn’t turn in half his assignments anyway - but weed, weed he cares about.

and it’s not about getting high (well it sort of is - because - come on,  _weed_ ) - and more about the freedom that comes with it. because sometimes when zayn is high off of his fucking face, his vision blurs all the pretty colors together (and everyone’s skin starts to look the same.)

**…………………………………………………….**

zayn meets liam for the first time (properly) when they’re both juniors in high school. zayn’s walking home from school alone (and really, when is he  _not_ alone) when someone is shouting behind him,

 _"hey, look out!_ ”

and zayn wonders what the hell they’re talking about (and who the hell they’re talking to because nobody talks to him - he’s  _nobody_  himself in fact) when a football slams into his temple making him see stars with the impact. his knees buckle and his hand flies to run over his aching head as his vision swims (it’s like being high), and he can dimly make out hurried footsteps.

“christ,” somebody is saying, placing a hand on his shoulder and spinning him around, “i’m sorry.”

the person is a boy. liam payne, zayn thinks faintly and he wants to say hi but doesn’t because -  _god_ \- that would be incredibly creepy. (and zayn has a feeling if he says  _hi_  then he might just say  _you’re in my english class and i like peer grading your work because it’s plain and simple like you and  you’re so fit but nobody seems to ever notice_ ). so instead, zayn shuts his mouth and stays quiet.

liam looks at his dazed expression worriedly, “you alright, mate?”

and zayn groans - because for a minute he’d forgotten he’d just been hit in the head, “you can fucking  _kick_.”

liam chuckles nervously, eyeing is head ( _i don’t have a concussion_ , zayn wants to say,  _i’m just tongue-tied_  but again, he thinks its best he just shuts up), “sorry about that, it really looked like it hurt.”

zayn shrugs, “it’s cool, yeah.”

“i’m liam, by the way.”

and zayn wants to  _scream_ because really - does he really have to get hit in the head with a football to get noticed because they’ve spent eight weeks in a square classroom and zayn’s written his name in the corrected by section of liam’s papers so many times he can’t count - and he’d thought  _surely, surely_ liam must at least know his name by now. apparently not though.

“zayn,” he manages (will liam even  _remember_ his name?) and liam formally holds out a hand for zayn to shake - and zayn does shake it, all the while thinking what an ugly contrast his hand is to the pale whiteness of the other.

liam’s eyes crinkle into half-moons, “nice to meet you, zayn.” (and he really does sound glad, zayn notes, because as much as zayn sees of him, liam always seems to be alone - zayn wonders if that’s what drew him in the first place).

zayn nods, “likewise.”

there’s an uncomfortable silence before liam breaks it, “well i guess i’ll be seeing you then.” he pauses, “sorry again.”

he gives zayn a little wave and zayn has just enough time to mutter a soft, " _see you_ ” before is liam is lopping away from him, black and white ball tucked under his arm (zayn’s seen him play before - and he plays alone, just kicking the ball into the net, dribbling around the field and sometimes, when zayn is watching his pretty peach skin, flushed red with heat, he doesn’t understand  _why_ ).

he rubs his temple one more time before turning and continuing on his way home.

(but from then and on, liam begins to sit by him in english, turning to smile at zayn as he does so.)

**…………………………………………………….**

_(they become like this.):_

liam’s the first person zayn has been able to speak to outside his family that doesn’t make him feel like he has bugs crawling under his skin. in fact, they fall together quite easily - and soon liam begins to wait for zayn outside his chemistry classroom so they can grab lunch together. (they end up on the same table, completely empty save the two of them, pressed side by side - there’s just so much space, but they’re just so  _tired_ ).

and zayn doesn’t really know what to do with himself - because now instead of weed behind the bleachers, him and liam spread out on his bedroom floor and read comic books, his mum and dad smile at him more because  _liam is such a nice boy, zayn_ , and zayn can’t remember a time he’s felt more full (though he has been, literally many times before, but looking back, zayn wonders how he could have possibly mistaken that for fullness - for contentment).

he also can’t shake the feeling of incredulity because liam, in fact, did  _not_ forget his name but instead says  _zayn_ in a way that makes him shake because liam’s not family, he didn’t give him life, he doesn’t owe anything to zayn (and zayn just feels really, really lucky, ok).

“zayn, look at this,” liam is saying, one afternoon. zayn and him both have major english assignments due in two days and he’s been driving liam up the wall with incessant pestering as to  _why the hell haven’t you started yet liam?_ (to which liam had laughed and told zayn that he’d never pegged him to the be one to care about school, making zayn’s mouth snap shut because why does liam think he doesn’t  _care_. he doesn’t, he knows, to anyone, but to  _liam?_ and then liam’s eyes had gone impossibly soft and he’d whispered  _sorry_  into zayn’s shoulder with arms squeezed tight around his torso. so he’d laughed bitterly and told liam it was fine - because at least it’d meant he’d  _noticed._ zayn doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the look in liam’s eyes at that moment).

zayn glances away from his copy of  _To Kill A Mockingbird_ , to see that liam has opened an x-men comic to a picture of nightcrawler (and zayn feels a  _pang_  shiver through his body because, god -  _nightcrawler_ ).

“he’s so cool,” liam says and zayn wants to slap him.

“he’s just like me,” zayn replies, then wants to stuff the words back in his mouth because honestly, he’s such a creep sometimes.

liam furrows his brow and his mouth opens in a laugh, “you got a tail you’ve never shown me mate?”

and zayn rolls his eyes, because of course liam would take the lighter side. “no, li. he well - he’s you know,” and zayn doesn’t know what he’s saying, “ _different_ , yeah?” he groans - he sounds like a nutter.

but liam levels him with a hard look, “so?”

“so, he just doesn’t, you know, ” zayn struggles, “fit in. know what ‘m saying?” (and zayn gets the feeling this conversation has long ago ceased to be about a character because sometimes zayn feels like a character still waiting for his end).

liam bites his lip, “is it cause he has blue skin?” his voice is as hard as his eyes (zayn wants to stab himself in the eyes.)

“no,” he spits (then wonders if it sounds as much like a lie to liam as it does to him), “he’s a fucking recluse is all.”

liam looks away sharply. “so am i,” he breathes.

and - oh - this is not what zayn envisioned happening, but he’s in too deep now. (but while zayn just doesn’t  _care,_ liam’s always cared just a little too much).

“no, liam,” because really, that’s not what he meant, “you’ve got me, yeah?” (zayn doesn’t know if that’s reassuring because, honestly,  _look at him_ )

but liam smiles softly, “yeah,” he says, “yeah i do.”

and zayn pushes forward, determined to make him understand. “listen, yeah, you’re not nobody,” he says firmly, “you’re  _not_.” (and wow that somehow sounded a lot better in his head).

but liam’s eyes are disappearing and his smile is widening, “you make me somebody, zayn.”

(and zayn feels something tighten deep inside of him).

**…………………………………………………….**

_(they start like this._ ):

when liam finally presses forward to kiss zayn on the mouth, they’ve been friends for ten months and it’s may with the school year coming to a close and summer just around the corner.

they’re in zayn’s bedroom again, with zayn trying and failing to draw liam ( _it’s cause you move too much, li_  zayn tells him). but really, he should have known, because zayn always finds himself at a loss when he sits to write about or paint liam. it’s like, he’s got his pencil poised over the paper and thinks about the way liam smiles at him and the way he laughs even when zayn is thinking  _that wasn’t even funny_ and he can’t bring himself to pin liam down with a handful of adjectives or lines.

liam, the little bugger, is laughing at zayn’s frustration, and his stomach is heaving, abs pressing distractingly into his shirt and zayn is groaning that  _you’re such a goddamn puppy, payne - dunno why i put up with you._ liam smiles brightly at him, late afternoon sun glinting off his face (he looks at him like he’s is the sun, the moon, the earth, the axis of his life - and zayn marvels at the sheer  _need_  liam has for him.  _so this is what it feels like to be wanted,_ zayn thinks).

because liam - liam makes zayn somebody, and not the other way around (that much is apparent in the contrast that liam is to zayn while they’re pressed together, watching some inane movie liam’s managed to pull from the children’s section in the library.)

zayn looks down at his canvas -  _blank._

liam pads over to him, “lets see what you have, yeah.”

and zayn is trying to cover the white with his arms but liam is pulling his arms gently apart and soon has them stretched straight above his head and now  _zayn_ can’t stop squirming. liam takes a long look and zayn wants to laugh at the crinkle between his eyebrows.

his eyes are bright when he looks back up at zayn, arms still holding zayn’s straight up, “that’s  _unbelievable_ you know,” he whispers and he sounds completely overwhelmed and zayn can’t imagine that it’s him that’s making liam feel that way.

“yeah,” he says, voice hoarse. (and goddamn it, his hands are still above his head)

liam blinks, “you’re  _unbelievable_ too you know.”

and liam’s hands shake as he lowers zayn’s to rest on his sides.

“yeah,” zayn says again because he’s a  _fool._

liam smiles again (because he’s sort of a fool too) and in zayn’s bedroom while zayn’s in ratty sweatpants with the sun glinting off the windowpanes, liam leans in to place his mouth on his and the rest is history.

**…………………………………………………….**

later that week, when zayn shyly tells his parents, they’re ecstatic because - zayn’s  _boyfriend_ (and even though they pretend not to notice, they know how scarce friends are to zayn.). then that night liam calls him with a smile in his voice as he tells him how excited his mum and dad are to meet him.

(it’s more than zayn hopes for. more than his tan-skinned body deserves.)

**…………………………………………………….**

_(they continue like this._ ):

liam and zayn come out to the school by accident when a member of the football team catches them kissing on the deserted pitch one afternoon. zayn knows better than to kiss in public but liam looks up at him in the summer sun from where he’s crouched over the ball and says,  _thanks for coming out here with me, zayn_  and zayn is falling to his knees and pulling liam’s face between his fingers as he slots their mouths neatly together. liam’s fingers are digging into his neck, but he’s so gentle, so careful in the way he holds zayn like he’s some sort of fucking god and liam is lucky to be in his mere presence.

(and as liam’s left hand tangles in his right, their first handshake and the color difference flashes to zayn’s mind and he thinks, not for the first time, that liam, with is peached skin is  _crazy_ to be here - to be here with him).

because zayn knows  _he’s_  the lucky one - that it’s not liam that should be glad to be in his presence because zayn is so much less than him - he’s only half of liam ( _literally_ , only half). and he can’t imagine why nobody speaks to liam or plays football with liam (lets be honest, without liam, zayn  _is_  nobody) because there’s nothing wrong with liam - liam’s not defected. not like the way zayn is.

the next day at school is insane but completely normal at the same time. everyone seems to be watching them like they’ve lost their minds because  _really liam, zayn?_ or  _zayn’s really scored hasn’t he_  - and zayn wants to scream because liam has told him over and over and over again how nobody cared before zayn and  _where are all these people coming from_ and  _why do they all have something to say_.

but then, people are branding liam the worthier of the two and zayn is the lucky one and then he can’t argue anymore - because it’s so true,  _god it’s so true_.

(but sometimes zayn, too caught up in caring too little, forgets that liam cares too much).

**…………………………………………………….**

_(they break like this.):_

“they’re so excited to meet you.”

“god, zayn, they’ll like you - nothing to worry about, babe.”

“to be honest, i think my mum loves you more than me.”

and now - now, zayn wants to shout because why the fuck had he let liam talk him into this. sure, liam’s come over plenty of times - zayn’s mum has walked in on them kissing multiple times but there’s something different in the way zayn’s mum looks at liam compared to way liam’s mum looks at him. (especially when zayn is in her house).

there are bugs under zayn’s skin, pulling at his veins and ripping his blood vessels and zayn wants to cry but doesn’t understand why (he doesn’t know it yet, but he will -  _he will_ ).

liam swallows nervously and raises their linked hands, (russet and peach, zayn thinks in horror), “mum and dad, this is  _zayn.”_  he’s smiling and so is everyone else but zayn wants to run - he wants to grab liam’s hands and pull him into a colorblind world (even though he’s half sure that even in such a world, they’d somehow manage to be different).

liam’s mum, karen, smiles (too much lipstick, too many teeth), “nice to meet you sweetie,” she says and zayn wants to shout  _please use my name - please use my name - i know it’s not zach - and i know it’s strange to you - but please use my name._ desperation claws at his throat when liam’s father excuses himself with a clap on zayn’s shoulder, telling liam that he really has to leave because something’s come up at work.

(liam looks stunned and zayn’s mouth feels like sandpaper.)

**…………………………………………………….**

karen is still smiling through dinner (after she’d insisted he stay and liam had beamed at him, mouthing  _told you so_ ) and zayn feels sick to his core. he wants to cover himself in the pristinely white table cloth and somehow mold it into his skin.

“so, zayn,” she’s saying, “liam here talks about you quite a bit.”

liam blushes and despite everything, zayn can’t stop a faint smile from escaping as their eyes meet across the table. karen raps her pale, manicured fingers loudly against the table to recapture his attention and zayn snaps to look at her.

“so what do you want to do with your life then, zayn?”

and zayn desperately wants to pass the test - but liam’s right here and he knows about zayn’s love for words and his passion for art and god, he can’t lie  _here_.

he swallows, setting himself up for failure. “i want to be an english teacher or maybe an artist,” he mutters, hoping to god that she wouldn’t hear him.

but karen seems to hear everything (zayn can clearly tell in the unreadable expression that flashes in her eyes and the tight press of her lips).  _you are not wanted here._

zayn nearly breaks on the table because god, and he wants to shout  _i know, mrs. payne. i know how lucky i am. i’m sorry i’m not what you want - but i will be. just give me liam and i’ll do it - i’ll be anything_. instead he twists his fingers together and stares as karen gets up to serve them.

liam’s smile falters when he catches zayn’s expression from across the table.

they sit in silence for a minute as zayn watches karen dish each of their plates, but as he catches his bronze reflection in the silverware, he quickly diverts his attention to give liam a much needed smile of reassurance (though zayn wonders if it feels as much like a lie to liam as it does to him).

they’ve just started eating when -

“zayn,” karen is eyeing him (bugs, zayn thinks, under my skin), “what exactly are you  _doing_?” she sounds horrified and zayn presses his trembling lips together (he’s not going to cry in here, damnit.)

zayn looks up in confusion and liam makes a questioning noise- zayn chances a glance in his direction to find affection shining in his eyes - but karen, no karen’s eyes are  _flinty._

“zayn,” she says slowly (but zayn can tell the patience is fake), “the fork goes in one hand and the knife in the other.”

liam makes a shocked sound, but zayn swallows down the bite he had in his mouth (the food doesn’t taste like anything anymore he realizes) and looks at the knife he’d simply abandoned in favor of the fork before blushing, “i- well, i’m pakistani you know,” he sees her flinch so he hurries forward, “i generally, well, my family mostly eats with their fingers.” and zayn wants to shoot himself in the face because karen is looking at him like he’s some sort of  _savage_.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles into his napkin.

karen breathes out steadily, trying and failing in controlling her anger, “napkin in your lap, zayn,” she snaps, “ _not_  on the table.” (and now, zayn can confirm that it’s not about his table manners at all).

“mum!”

zayn closes his eyes (liam’s napkin is on the table too) and he feels faint, “excuse me,” he mumbles and without waiting for an answer, stumbles to the bathroom - he can hear karen and liam arguing in the background and he’s happy in some sick way that liam is standing up for him. (its true though, he thinks bitterly, everything karen said was the truth).

but when he has the door closed tightly with the lock turned, zayn upturns everything he ate, flushes the toilet and presses himself against the sink as he  _stares_  at himself and all his tanned skinned glory.

he clenches his fists and thinks -  _paki._

_paki._

**…………………………………………………….**

that night, zayn lies in his bed, fingers pressing his phone tightly against his cheek, waiting, waiting,  _waiting._

(but liam never calls and zayn falls asleep, phone sticking to his cheek with tears.)

**…………………………………………………….**

_(they “try” like this.):_

“fuck me.”

liam’s gaze snaps to him.

“ _what?_ ”

and zayn flops down on his bed (he mentally promised to refuse if liam ever wants him to come over again, but as zayn will find out with a sinking feeling that liam will never ask again), “nobody’s home so come on, fuck me.”

and because zayn is so desperate now, so,  _so_ desperate as he tries to hang on to something he  _knows_  he doesn’t deserve. “please liam, it’ll be good, yeah.” (i just want you, i want to keep you, i want you to love me)

and then liam is nodding and pressing zayn into his mattress, “ok.”

but it’s not ok, because zayn isn’t ready for liam - he’s had sex, yes, but not like this. (he’s learned that everything with liam is generally different - but this, this isn’t what he thought of when he thought of his first time with liam).

because it’s not fireworks and stars and flying - instead zayn feels ripped open as liam thrusts into him (it  _has_ been a while) but, even worse, his chest feels like it’s surrounded by pins and zayn wants to claw his skin off and replace it with a paler version. he also wants kisses and candles and  _liam. (_ and while it’s definitely liam pushing into him - liam isn’t  _here_ , liam’s not with him - liam’s off in his head somewhere and zayn wants to shout  _please, please keep me, please - i’ll be anything_ ).

liam finishes first, collapsing next to him and zayn rolls over to take care of himself.

(and when he comes, zayn’s never been so shattered, and not because of pleasure - but because  _that - that was everything_ and liam didn’t want it- didn’t want  _him_ ).

he feels liam lazily pull him into his arms and zayn shudders.

“everything alright?” liam murmurs into the back of zayn’s neck, near his tattoo (and god, zayn had always imagined that liam would press kisses to his tattoos and whisper  _so good zayn, so good - love you_ , but at this point, he’ll take what he can get.)

“yeah, ” zayn whispers back tiredly.  

(it’s the first time he’s ever lied to liam.)

**…………………………………………………….**

four nights later, zayn gets a fateful phone call, and if he was broken after liam took him, he’s  _shattered_  now because he always knew he wasn’t enough.

(he just didn’t know that liam knew it too).

**…………………………………………………….**

_(they break like this.):_

the thing is -  zayn is waiting for the apology and the  _you make me somebody, zayn_ and some sort of movie scene where liam shows up at his doorstep in tears.

none of that happens.

instead, zayn goes back to (being nobody) getting high behind the bleachers and fucking around and liam goes back to his family with his head held high and zayn is  _so_ desperate for an outlet because the self loathing is choking off his air supply. he spends long hours in front of the mirror and just  _stares_  because there’s so much wrong with him it physically punches and rips and claws and when he sees liam in english class (he’s moved back to his old seat), he wants to set himself alight.

graduation could not have come sooner and the minute zayn walks off that stage (his mum is crying and his dad is proud and stern and zayn sort of hates him and then hates himself for hating him because for god’s sake that man is his  _father_ ), he never looks back.

he’s got an acceptance letter for an english degree stuffed in the back of his drawer at home because after his parents had found it in the mail, he hasn’t got anybody to show it off  _to_ (and that night when he sits with the letter in his hands, knees pressed to his chest as he curls up on the sheets liam has forever managed to soil, zayn breaks down over and over and over again until he can scarcely believe he’s still human).

he figures he would have offed himself ages ago if it hadn’t been for his mum and dad who keep denying the snarky comments zayn still hears on the streets and tell him that he’s their  _jaan_ and that they  _love him_ \- and zayn figures he has to be enough for somebody in his life. so he stays and dreams and hopes and breaks over and over and over again.

one june afternoon, zayn finds himself in the children’s section of the library cradling a copy of toy story in his arms (because he  _really_  is  _that_  pathetic), when liam rounds the corner and sees the disc in his hands.

zayn watches helplessly as liam slumps against the shelves, “zayn,” he mumbles as he begins to move forward.

alarmed, zayn throws up his hands in defense, “ _please, li,”_ he whispers desperately (because that’s all zayn’s been over these past few weeks - desperate and tired and unworthy), “ _no more.”_ his voice is hoarse from disuse (to his parent’s worry - they’d found out it had ended badly with liam but he’d never told them why - he’d taken to shutting himself in his room with music to drown out the world now that weed was no longer an option. honestly, zayn is itching for college and the sweet smoke it’s sure to bring with it).

and then liam looks impossibly sad, and never mind how badly it went the first time around, zayn wants him again and wants to make him feel better (because _liam is liam and he deserves everything and the absolute best and everything zayn didn’t have, and -_ )

“zayn,” liam repeats and zayn doesn’t have the strength to stop him, “i miss you.”

and - oh - that’s  _so_  unfair because the late afternoon sunlight is glinting off his face and zayn can think of nothing more he wants than for liam to surge forward and kiss him like he meant something again - like he was still somebody instead of the nothingness he’s broken into.  

liam shoots a second glance down at the CD in zayn’s hands, “is that-“

“yes,” zayn breaks in, exhausted, “ _yes, god.”_  and he rests his head into a shelf, closing his eyes. “i’m sorry,” he whispers at last, because liam deserves it (christ, liam deserves everything and zayn, with his russet skin, is so lucky to have been able to hold him and call him  _mine_ , even if it was only for a few months).

but liam is kind (liam is perfect) and he frowns at zayn, “why are  _you_ sorry,” he says in disbelief, “if anybody should be sorry - it’s me. my mum was awful and i’m such a  _coward_ , zayn and-“

zayn laughs (because honestly, how can liam even think like that?), “you’re  _perfect.”_

but liam only frowns deeper, “how can you say that?” he whispers. “i’ve done nothing but hurt-“

but zayn is interjecting because he wanted liam to ask for him back, yeah, but he’d never wanted  _this_ (whatever  _this_  was), “you gave me  _everything_ and i, i somehow managed to-“

but liam is making a horrified noise and he’s shaking and now he’s pressing forward into zayn (and oh, god  _it’s been so long_  and zayn feels himself mold into liam because, again, at this point he’ll take  _anything_  he can get).

“zayn no,” and liam sounds so sad now and god knows zayn doesn’t want him to be sad - zayn wants liam to be happy (but he just wants to be around to bask in the glory of it - tanned skin and - )

“zayn, stop!” and now liam’s voice has a note of hysteria in it and zayn does as he’s told and stops thinking, and liam begins to press kisses to his cheeks (and, really, that’s all zayn’s ever wanted -  _love me_ ).

“i’m sorry,” he whispers again, and liam claps a hand over his mouth.

“stop apologizing,” he hisses as his eyes dart wildly over zayn’s face (and zayn watches as a new sort of understanding begins to dawn in liam’s eyes) as he crumples into zayn’s body.

“ _christ_ ,” he whispers because zayn -  _zayn_ looks like pain and hatred and vulnerability covered in cheap wallpaper.

(and in the middle of the children’s section in the library, half clutching the toy story dvd in his hands, liam presses his face into zayn’s neck and  _sobs_  - because  _what has he done?_ )

**…………………………………………………….**

“god, zayn, god,” liam is mumbling as he sets him down on his bed (zayn had fought furiously when liam had dragged him to his house but liam was having none of it  and then he’d whispered  _let me do this zayn_ and liam feels sick as he watches zayn crumble - because zayn  _can’t_ still be -  _shouldn’t_ still be -).

sitting on his bed in old sweats and liam’s oversized jumper (zayn wouldn’t stop shivering), clutching the toy story dvd tightly in his fingers, zayn looks impossibly small and impossibly young. but he still looks at liam the way he used to and liam wants to  _cry_ because he now understands zayn’s obsession with  _your skin is so pretty, liam, so much prettier than mine._ (and how can he forget the desperate _fuck me_  - and god, liam is going to be sick, actually  _sick_  - because - christ - how could he have not seen - how could he have -)

“please don’t blame yourself,” zayn mutters and the tough no-fucks-given attitude is  _gone_  and all liam can see is a  _boy_ that hates every inch of himself.

“how,” liam swallows, “it was my job to-“

zayn shakes his head and runs his fingers through his flat hair (it only makes him look younger, liam realizes, horrified). “you don’t owe me anything,” and zayn looks up and he just looks so  _thankful_ and liam can’t breathe. zayn smiles, then, “sometimes i still can’t believe you  _actually care_.”

“zayn, zayn -  _jesus christ_ ,” liam bends to kneel in front of him and press kisses to his hands. “how can you even  _think_ -“

zayn goes to open his mouth but liam surges up to kiss him (the way zayn’s imagined so, so, so many times before) and he melts into the touch.

“be angry with me,” liam breathes against his mouth.

“i can’t,” zayn mutters back.  

and liam presses zayn back on the bed and if liam wants that, zayn supposes he’d be ok with it but instead liam wraps his arms so tightly around him that zayn has trouble breathing (and he feels full - so fucking full).

“zayn,” he’s saying, “zayn, now i’m going to talk and you’re going to listen.” (then he wants to cry because zayn nods so easily against his chest) and something in him is breaking and  _how did zayn stand this_  - “i love you,” he gasps out, quite suddenly and unplanned.

and zayn’s imagined this in a million different ways (he’s going to admit he never thought he’d actually get it.) but liam’s hushing him before he can respond. then he intertwines their fingers and zayn wants to look away because -  _god,_ but liam’s holding his head still (zayn tries to close his eyes) but he owes liam this - he’s wasted so much of liam’s time.

“ _i’m sorry,”_ he whispers, desperately, as he looks at their intertwined colors.

but then there’s a kiss at his fern tattoo ( _jesus christ_ ), “no, zayn,” liam says, “that’s  _beautiful._ ”

(and as the afternoon sunlight glows on their fingers, zayn supposes he can see why).

**…………………………………………………….**

liam’s mother is  _furious_ when she finds zayn and liam nestled together in her son’s bed but before she can say any hurtful words, liam is ushering her out the room and throwing zayn a look (a  _stay-right-there_  look) before following her.

zayn remembers burying his face in liam’s pillow as liam and karen  _shout_  for what seems like  _years_  - then liam shouts something once more and everything falls quiet.

then liam is stumbling back into the room and tangling himself into zayn and zayn is huddling into him because he’s missed this so  _fucking_  much and liam is finally, finally kissing his tattoos.

much later (and for the life of him, zayn can’t say how much later - all he knows is that it’s dark out now), zayn finally mutters, “what’d you say?”

“hmm?” liam lifts his mouth from zayn’s yin and yang sign.

“to her, to your mum?”

and liam looks at him hard, “that i loved you.”

**…………………………………………………….**

_(they mend like this.):_

it takes zayn months to understand that liam is actually not joking and that it’s ok to ask and not just give. all the while liam is solid and warm and  _there_ and patiently rubs his cheeks and presses kisses to the ink as zayn comes to terms to _tanned_ and  _beautiful_ being connected and being one and the same.

uni starts in the middle of september and liam drives down every weekend to see zayn and they kiss and cuddle and watch movies and make terrible food and lie in the sunlight where zayn is forced to look at their skin together. and liam finally catches zayn admiring his new haircut in the mirror one october saturday. (he walks up behind him running a hand through the freshly cut ink black hair and a another hand over zayn’s tanned arm and says -  _you._ just  _you_  and liam thinks that zayn understands).

when the holidays roll around, they rent a little motel room because liam refuses to bring zayn back home even though his family is making an effort and zayn mysteriously turns down his mum’s offer. then, six days into the holiday, liam finds out why, as zayn shyly invites him up to bed.

 **(…** “li,” zayn mutters and god, liam is  _fucking_ scared. they’re lying on the bed, shirtless, facing each other and all liam can see is that desperate  _fuck me_.

“li, come on,” he says tracing liam’s arm with a finger, “i want to, yeah?”  

and liam, embarrassingly, feels tears well in his eyes.

“i can’t”

and zayn is laughing, “wish you’d told me before, mate, then i wouldn’t have bothered with you.” but liam doesn’t smile and zayn huffs a breath, “what do you think will happen, li, it’s just sex.”

and liam cringes, because  _has zayn completely forgotten?_ “just sex,” he mutters back, frowning and zayn sighs.

“it’ll be different this time.”

“how do you know?” liam asks childishly.

and zayn smiles brightly. “you’ll kiss me, yeah?” he asks and liam presses his mouth to zayn’s cheek in response. zayn’s eyes crinkle, “then it’ll be good, li.”

and carefully, hesitantly, liam whispers, “ok.”

and when liam presses zayn down into the mattress, he makes sure to mouth over every tattoo, every piece of skin and take zayn into his mouth and when he finally begins to press a slicked finger inside, zayn is gasping, throwing his head back and forth across the pillow, but as the finger presses inwards, zayn hisses sharply (again, it  _has_ been awhile). and liam is panicking and pulling out.

“ _liam,”_ zayn groans because  _what the fuck is he doing?_  and his tone is threatening.

“i can’t,” liam gasps and zayn huffs  _i’m not hurt_  but liam is fucking  _shaking_. “i can’t - i’m sorry,” he whispers again as he reaches over to brush his lips on zayn’s cheeks, lapping up stray tears. “not again.”

zayn pulls him into his arms and then liam is feeling  _awful_ but then -

“zayn,” he says turning over, “you do it.”

“hmm?”

“you can -” and liam gestures wildly, cheeks heating and zayn stares.

“you’ll like it better if -“

“zayn, no” and liam has that tone again, the one he had in the library, and zayn feels young and reprimanded again. “it doesn’t always have to be about me.”

“but this is about  _us,_ ” he argues but liam is having none of it.

“and in that us - there’s a  _you._ ”

zayn crumbles (he’s never able to deny liam anything but liam plans on teaching him that too, even though it’ll be a damn pain after considering how much zayn whines). “ok,” he mutters, “but don’t tell me i didn’t warn you.”

and liam laughs. “i’ll love it,” he says then lowers his voice, “i’ll love it because i love you.” (and he’s hoping, hoping,  _hoping -_  but zayn stays silent).

when they begin, liam understands why zayn had tears in his eyes because this _hurts_  and  _burns_ in a white hot sort of way. but it’s zayn and he feels cocooned and safe and warm and he thinks  _you're crazy for thinking i wouldn’t like this_  as zayn begins to pick up his pace.

and when he does come, liam actually thinks he sees stars and fireworks  _explode_ under zayn’s  _gorgeous_ tanned skin.

and zayn presses into him one last time and then he’s gone too, collapsing on top of him and liam shifts them so they’re both tucked away under the covers.

“i love you,” zayn murmurs hotly into his ear and liam feels his cheeks rise and rise and rise and just - there’s so much in him for this boy. so he, quite foolishly -

“fireworks,” he whispers and zayn huffs out a tired laugh. (because he’s just seen them shoot from liam into himself and he’s just  _always_ wanted that).

“what?”

“i see fireworks,” liam breathes again, “under your ( _beautiful, beautiful)_  skin.”

and then zayn is shifting down to liam’s level, pressing his fingers into liam’s damp hair.

“liam,” he says, “don’t you see,” and his eyes are  _blazing_ now (i’m going to go blind, liam thinks faintly),

“ _you_   _put them there_.” **…)**

and it takes zayn nearly two years before he stops cringing completely at the difference between his hands and liam’s hands (because even though they are pretty, doesn’t necessarily mean that they  _belong -_ that he will ever  _belong_ ) because he finally sees that there had to be a reason why liam looks at him like that (like zayn’s  _needed -_ so this is what its like to  _really_  be  _wanted._ ) and this time, zayn thinks he’s found something that’ll keep him full and content for the rest of his life.

he’s willing to go back to visit liam’s parents for christmas that year, except this time liam yanks back just as they reach the front door and kisses him,

“you,” he says to him (in sort of a  _be-sure-to-remember-that_ tone) and zayn blinks back, tanned skin glowing in the late evening.

“ _always you.”_

(and when they enter hand in hand - each so different than the other - they refuse to let go).

**…………………………………………………….**

**Author's Note:**

> alright so um - i cried writing that - very personal story yet not proud of the way i handled zayn’s character and very upset with the way the scene at the library came out - because it’s emotionless on paper. (was also laughing while writing it).  
> Um - find me on tumblr under the same username if you so wish.  
> And again, sorry to everyone who sees this as a repost. :)


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